Marcus walked toward a black armored SUV, and at the last step, he paused. Turning to look back at the modest bungalow behind him.
It was a small bungalow, just enough for three people. He had maintained this building well for the past five years. His very first paycheck was used to put a down payment on this building. A silent milestone of pride for him.
There's no point in trying to meet them before leaving. Farewells aren't necessary either, because I will return.
He slowly raised his red cap and placed it firmly on his head. The green camouflage of his uniform hugged his lean frame. An insignia on his shoulder caught a faint glint of the evening sunlight. As he approached the rear door of the SUV, three officers in matching uniforms, stepped out of the vehicle.
They moved in unison, like robots, and stood in a line. As one, they snapped to attention and saluted Marcus.
Steel Wardens.
He noted their ranks from the insignias on their uniform without much interest. The rank was a respectable one, just a tier below his own. As an Iron Marshal of the Empire's forces, protocol demanded their deference. However, that wasn't what occupied his thoughts at the moment.
He was more concerned about their affiliations or if any of them had ulterior motives. Regardless of their ranks, they were all sent to escort him not out of courtesy, but out of caution. To make sure that he's taken care of if he is still within the range of the First Ring by the time his twelve hours expire.
For now, they had to respect and obey his rank over theirs, but the moment the twelve hours go by and he is found lacking, they would turn on him. The thought of this didn't sit quite well with Marcus, but he swallowed his thoughts and feelings, not letting them show on his face.
"At ease," he uttered lightly.
Without a word, one of the officers turned and pulled open the car door for him.
After he stepped into the vehicle, the men outside broke their formation and joined him inside the car before they started driving away.
While they moved, Marcus glanced at his neighbor's house, occupied by another man who was currently serving in the Empire's Force.
Maybe I'll get a chance to meet him in the barracks stationed in the Second Ring… haven't seen or spoken to him since we left The Borders.
The Borders.
To many citizens of the Avalon Empire, The Borders were more than just cities clinging to the outer walls of the First Ring—they were a harsh reminder of the divide between privilege and survival. Populated by citizens marginalized in one form or another… The Borders housed outcasts within reach.
Though there wasn't much barricading The Borders from the inner parts of the First Ring, most people from The Borders dared not to venture into these cities illegally for they could be considered and treated as invaders.
Poverty ran like blood through its streets. Resources were scarce, proper education rarer still. Most don't even live long enough to dream, and those who do grow old often harden—closed off, bitter, and cruel toward anyone who offers no benefit in return.
In this pressure cooker of despair, some found power, not in reform, but in rebellion. Small-time gangs evolved into Cartels. Cartels grew into syndicates. To the point where some sections of The Borders weren't governed by the Law per se, but by the shadow and fear.
It was from such a place that Marcus moved his family from. He had worked hard and sacrificed heavily to achieve all that he had today, at a young age at that. And yet, here he was, being forced to leave what he had worked for and the people he cared for, to serve a sentence for a crime that he didn't commit. He was being framed, and he didn't like it one bit.
Marcus was fuming inwardly, though, nothing of what he felt could be seen in his demeanor or his face.
The car was already on the move, and he was quickly joined by two other black SUVs that escorted him on his way to the Military Train Station.
Roughly two hours had passed since Marcus boarded the train. He sat in silence with his gaze fixed on the window beside him. Outside, uniformed soldiers paced the length of the platform with steady routines, and as they moved, his eyes tracked them.
He looked calm, unreadable even, but his mind was on alert at the moment. No one but him was in this coach.
Marcus didn't expect to be left off so easily. Whoever had the guts to orchestrate his downfall simply wouldn't watch him disappear into the Second Ring, not without ensuring he never came back.
From the corner of the window, he caught sight of heavy containers being loaded into a cargo car. TOP SECRET was stenciled in bold black lettering across their steel faces, though it was a bit hard to discern as the sun was almost down completely.
With a soft sigh, Marcus turned his attention away from the window and stared at the empty seat across from him. Moments later, the train jerked to life, humming as it slowly began to accelerate. Traveling at the speed of Mach-4, the journey to the Second Ring was estimated to last seven hours.
As the city's light began to blur past the windows, his hand drifted to the grip of his firearm, resting his fingers lightly against it. Marcus's gaze lifted toward the ceiling, though he wasn't looking at anything in particular.
Mercy, the judge called it.
A cold smirk threatened to surface, but didn't.
They handed me a knife and asked me to cut off my own arm in exchange for a future they'd already crippled.
That judge knows there's something deeper at play… and still chose punishment over justice. Pray that I never learn your name. Better yet, pray that I don't survive the journey to the barracks in the Second Ring.
As an Iron Marshal, Marcus was aware of the risks of traveling between the Rings, even though he had never experienced it himself. The world had changed, no longer a place that his forefathers would recall it to be.
It was now a place of wonders and monsters.
Three hours into the journey, his body still carried the weight of tension. He hadn't allowed himself to relax, not even for a moment.
Just when he chose to close his eyes, the lights in the train blinked once, then twice, before it finally died. At the same time, the train's speed began to drop, slow but steady.
In that moment, Marcus's mind jerked and his eyes snapped open. In one smooth motion, he shifted from his seat and rolled over to the section. The shadows inside the carriage stretched longer now, as if they were waiting for something to slip in through the silence.